Page 140 of Somno Slave

I look up too late.

Water pours over the cloth again.

The younger Deogal convulses beneath it, chains shrieking sharply against stone while his body bucks in blind panic. His ruined wrist slams uselessly against the floor every time he thrashes.

The crack of bone echoes again inside my skull. My own wrist answers immediately. Pain detonates up my arm hard enough to make me gasp.

But another memory crashes over it before the word finishes.

Fingers digging into his jaw. Blood running down his throat. Orange cloth. Blue stitching.

Water.

Prayer.

Somebody humming softly while he chokes. The images begin overlapping too quickly after that. Knees bruised black. Fingers twitching wrong. A needle through skin.

My breathing turns ragged. “Deogal—”

He keeps holding me while it happens. His hand strokes slowly through my hair while his younger self drowns behind him. His thumb keeps wiping tears from my face with unbearable patience.

“Look at me,” he murmurs again.

I try.

I genuinely try.

But the chamber won’t stop. The Friars blur and sharpen and blur again. One presses something glowing against Deogal’s shoulder and the smell hits me immediately.

Burning flesh.

I choke on the scream. My body starts shaking harder.

“Please,” I gasp.

“Shh.” His mouth brushes my temple. “You wanted this.”

My throat tightens around a sob.

The chamber won’t stop. Every sound is inside me now.

No.

I can’t.

I—

“Enough!” The word rips out of me violently. I don’t even realise I’ve said it until the chamber goes still.

His entire body stills. The hand in my hair comes loose immediately. Heat leaves with it. I feel the loss before I understand what caused it. The chamber suddenly feels colder.

My stomach drops.

“No,” I say quickly, breath snagging. “No, I didn’t mean—”

Deogal steps back. It feels catastrophic.

The younger version of him is still shaking on the floor behind us, coughing water onto stone, but Deogal isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at me. Hurt. God, somehow that expression is worse than anger.